Together
by speaknowbeloud
Summary: Secret Santa story for thaischrist! What happens when you combine a fight, a family trip, and a proposal? When Booth, Brennan, and Christine go on a family trip, our favorite couple struggles to reconcile over a tense argument. What happens when they both put their heart and soul into saving what they have? Angst at first but will get happier!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:**** Secret Santa story for thaischrist! Hope this is what you were looking for! :) Will be posted in chapters, all before December 25, of course :) Starts out angsty but will get happier.**

* * *

She wanted to cancel the vacation. But he insisted.

Leaning against the kitchen counter, she watches him play in the sand with their daughter. Although she can't hear them, she can imagine what they sound like: Christine's squeals and giggles, Booth's chuckles and teasing. She splashes in the waves and Booth runs after her, wrapping and arm around her waist and spinning her around.

She clenches her hand around the glass in front of her, staring bleakly into the water. He insisted on coming, because it was their first vacation together as a family. They'd only been there for a day, but already Brennan was regretting it: shouldn't the first vacation be perfect?

Her thoughts conflict, fighting each other:  
"_It's_ _my_ _fault."_  
_"He_ _overreacted."_  
_"No,_ _he_ _didn't._ _I_ _am_ _right."_  
_"But_ _so_ _is_ _he."_

She takes a sip of water, warding off a headache, as the door slides open. Christine tumbles in, sun-bleached hair wet and dripping as she runs up to her mother, hands cupped and outstretched. "Mommy, look at what I found!"

Bending down, Brennan reaches for the seashells in her daughters hands, smiling and pushing away the fear and pain nagging at her. _"Later,"_she tells herself, focusing on the young girl and her childish joy.

* * *

"_Let's_ _get_ _married."_

They were such simple words, so meaningful when said together. They were words he'd imagined hearing on his wedding day. She'd be worried, jittery, and he'd calm her down, telling her how much he loved her, and then say those three words.

Or maybe, he'd be the nervous one, terrified she would change her mind. And she would calm him down, telling _him_ how much _she_ loved him, and then she'd say those words, and they'd get married.

_That's_ how they were supposed to be said. Not blurted out in the middle of an argument.

He leans back, stretching his arm backwards and gently massaging his bandaged shoulder. The bullet had just barely scraped him, but the hospital had called her anyways, throwing her into a panic. She'd left Christine with Angela and rushed to the hospital, desperate to see him. He could still see her vividly: her wide eyes, tears shining in them; her hair carelessly thrown into a ponytail that was quickly unraveling around red cheeks. She'd dragged her fingers over every inch of his body, making sure the only wound was on his shoulder, before proceeding to slap him.

But it was only when they got home that they'd both exploded at each other: she, angry at him for not letting her go with him to the suspect's interrogation; he, angry she even considered going with him.

_"I_ _could've_ _protected_ _you!"_ _She'd_ _screamed._

_"I_ _don't_ _want_ _you_ _to_ _protect_ _me!"_ _He'd_ _shouted_ _back. "I'm_ _supposed_ _to_ _be_ _protecting_ _you,_ _not_ _the_ _other_ _way_ _around!"_

_"I_ _don't_ _need_ _protecting!"_

_"Yeah,_ _well,_ _neither_ _do_ _I!"_

_"Fine!"_

_"Fine!"_

She'd left to pick up Christine, fuming, then texted him the equivalent of a paragraph about how he, at least, should've called her when he'd gotten hurt.

They'd picked up the argument in whispers once Christine was asleep, making sure to keep their voices low.

_"I_ _didn't_ _want_ _you_ _to_ _worry."_

_"Booth,_ _I_ _love_ _you._ _Of_ _course_ _I'm_ _going_ _to_ _worry,_ _no_ _matter_ _what." The words made his heart stop for a dizzying moment, but her next words cut into his delirium. "But_ _I don't want_ _to_ _have_ _the_ _hospital_ _tell_ _me_ _whenever_ _you_ _get_ _hurt,_ _especially_ _since_ _they_ _never_ _let_ _me_ _in_ _to_ _see_ _you!"_

_"I_ _told_ _you,_ _Caroline_ _said_ _the_ _paperwork_ _is_ _drawn_ _up_ _but_ _it's_ _hard_ _to_ _process._ _The_ _judge_ _has_ _to_ _make_ _sure_ _we're_ _absolutely_ _committed,_ _in_ _case_ _we_ _break_ _up_ _or_ _something-"_

_"Then_ _let's_ _get_ _married."_

_He'd_ _drawn_ _back_ _sharply,_ _as_ _if_ _she'd_ _slapped_ _him_ _again. "What?"_

_"If_ _the_ _judge_ _wants_ _commitment,_ _then_ _let's_ _get_ _married. That's_ _the_ _highest_ _form_ _of_ _commitment,_ _isn't_ _it?"_

_"I'm_ _not_ _marrying_ _you_ _just_ _for_ _paperwork,_ _Bones!"_ _He'd_ _leaned_ _in,_ _posture_ _straddling_ _the_ _lines_ _between_ _protective_ _and_ _threatening._ _"If_ _we_ _ever_ _get_ _married,_ _it_ _won't_ _be_ _just_ _so_ _we_ _can_ _see_ _each other_ _on_ _our_ _deathbeds. It won't be because we want permission to know if the other is okay." His fingers cupped her chin, tilting her face upwards towards him. "Don't push this off as a simple procedure when both of us know it's so much more." Drawing_ _back_ _sharply,_ _he'd_ _spun_ _on_ _his_ _heel_ _and_ _headed_ _upstairs._

She'd slept downstairs that night- if she'd even slept at all, he didn't know - refusing to take the bed and asking to cancel the vacation, or at least postpone. He'd denied her, nearly begging for the vacation. "We need it," he'd said. "We're both stressed."

She'd caved, of course, unable to deny him even when she was so annoyed at him. But these days, he wondered if he'd done the right thing. Being here, with her, was driving him insane. On one hand, he wanted to stay angry at her: to be annoyed, to win this argument because he had to prove to her what love meant.

But on the other hand, when her sad eyes caught his, when she curled up on the opposite side of the bed with at least a foot of space between them, when she avoided touching him when handing over their daughter...well, then he just wanted to pull her close, to apologize even though he'd done nothing wrong.

He sipped on a glass of milk, determined to stay sober the entire trip. He had to fix this before they went back, and he knew it.

They were holding on by a thread, and any misplaced word could make it snap.

* * *

She crawls into the opposite side of bed again, back to back with him. Heat seems to roll off of him in waves, burning her skin. All she wants to do is roll around to face him, curl into his skin.

But she doesn't. _She_ _can't. _

Part of her wonders if he's thinking what she's thinking, while the other part worries, terrified, if he thinks they're not worth it. She wants to ask him what she should do, what she should say, because when she's confused she turns to him. Always.

But she can't. He won't answer her this time. She's on her own for now.

She doesn't sleep much that night, her mind drifting between realities. But when she wakes to the morning light, it's with a new vigor, a new plan.

She's going to fix this. Before it all falls apart.

* * *

**Intrigued? I hope so.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:**** Thanks for the reviews! Hope you guys enjoy Chapter 2!**

He fakes a call from Hacker and excuses himself, idea forming in his mind. He needs to get away, just for a day, and with any luck his plan will work out.

She, of course, looks disappointed when he tells her his excuse. Hacker called with a case nearby. No, you're not needed, there's no body. It's an easy fix, I'll be back before night. Look, don't worry. Just have a girl's day with Christine.

She caves yet again, and he kisses his girls goodbye before he leaves, climbing into the SUV and driving, his plan slowly etching into his mind. He stops at a nearby restaurant- the best Thai one he can find- and makes a reservation. Then, to avoid her in case she decided to come into the town, he drives until he finds a nearby one. He parallel parks, pays the meter, and tosses his keys into his pocket. And then, he starts looking.

* * *

She can't help but feel sad that he got a case, but she lets him go anyways. "This is good," she says out loud to herself, Christine out of earshot. "Now I can put my idea into action."

Christine is only slightly disappointed at the change of plans, all too happy to go with her to town. Brennan loads up the stroller, just in case, and they head off, in summer dresses and floppy hats.

The town is tiny, with one main road, little stores lining the sidewalk. She lets Christine enter any store she wants, and before long the stroller is laden with bags of clothes and candy. They have lunch at a tiny café, sandwiches and smoothies, and stop by a Chinese restaurant to make reservations. She's thrilled to learn the restaurant offers a daycare service - apparently, lots of families come to visit, with parents that would appreciate a romantic dinner alone - and immediately enrolls Christine, who is too busy mulling over what fortune cookie she wants to notice what her mother is doing.

She's nearly giving up on her plan when she sees the store, crammed between two larger ones. There's a small stall for her stroller, it being too large to make it through the doorway, and once inside she makes Christine hold her hand, cautious of the glass and delicacy lining the shelves.

The ring display is at the very end, and only there does she hesitate. When a woman proposes, what do they do? Do they buy a ring for the man they're proposing to? No, maybe not. Should she buy a ring for herself? That feels too presumptuous. Are there couple engagement rings?

Head spinning, she watches Christine's small hand drift across the glass covering the display, biting her lip in a decidedly Brennan way. She points at one in particular, a flat silver one, with a little sign that claims it can be engraved. "That one, mommy," she says. "Daddy would like that one."

She stares in shock at her daughter, so amazingly intuitive, before taking a closer look at the ring. It is pretty, she muses. It is wide, but thin, and would be just the kind of thing he'd like.

Nodding decidedly at her daughter, she calls over the manager. "I'd like that one, she says. And just like that, she's made the hardest decision of her life.

* * *

He can't find it anywhere.

Sighing, he runs a hand through his hair, dragging his fingers through it and pulling out the knots that have entangled themselves through the salt-scented wind. He's leaning against the hood of his car, phone in one hand, staring at the time.

It is five o'clock, and he cannot find, for the life of him, a ring.

Oh, he's looked. He checked every jewelry store in the town. He's mulled over every display, every diamond, every precious stone. He's even been to a child's jewelry store, for goodness' sake (he didn't find Brennan's ring, but he did find Christine a cute little braided bracelet). He needs to find one before tonight. It's necessary to his plan. If he doesn't, what the hell will happen? It's not like he can propose with the tab off of a soda can or something. He has to have a ring.

He leans his head back to stare at the sky, still blue, the sun just beginning to lower itself. Time is running out, out, out and there is no way to stop it. He needs to find a damn ring and he needs to find one soon. In what is beginning to be the crappiest vacation ever, he needs to show her one perfect, shining moment of glory, even if it is just a moment.

He's so busy lost in his own thoughts to notice the glinting of silver on the table just off his line of sight, but when he does it nearly blinds him for a second. Blinking, he walks closer. A woman, hair braided neatly back and a long summer dress covered by a knit shawl, sits behind the table on which what feels like a million pieces of silver are glinting sunlight. His fingers reach to trace a couple of the items. There are rings, but a quick scan of them tells him none of them are worth buying, and he's just about to start feeling discouraged again when he sees the tiny box.

Intrigued, he reaches for it and picks it up. The box is full of charms, and he dips his hand in and pulls it out, feeling them run through his fingers like large, metal grains of sand. A couple stay on his palm, and he picks through them. A silver heart, a key, a bikini.

A dolphin.

He picks that one up in particular, trying not to lose it. It feels minuscule between his fingers, and when the lady finally focuses in on him, she smiles. "Cute, isn't it? I have chains you could put 'em on. I also have bracelets, if you prefer to buy more than one-"

Suddenly his hands are diving through the box, looking for charms that remind him of her. The tiny food delivery box with chopsticks. The heart. The key. The skull. The skeleton, the brain, the letters "T" and "B". Finally, when he's collected enough to fill a bracelet, he hands them to her, watching as she connects them carefully before handing the bracelet to him. "That'll be fifty dollars," she says serenely, and he hands over the money without a second thought. He misses the surprised look on the lady's face, shocked he thought she was being serious, lost in his thoughts again, imaging her face when he gave her the bracelet.

It wasn't a ring, but when had they ever stuck to the traditional before?


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:**** Sorry for not updating sooner, second last week of class = insane amount of work! Hope you guys enjoy this chapter! :)**

She is in the kitchen when he walks in the door, and he can't help but stop for a minute and watch her. She's wearing a summer dress, a beautiful blue that brings out her eyes, and she is staring out the back glass door. Her hair is gently curled around her shoulders, her hands curled around a cup of iced coffee and a lost look to her.

He closes the door just a little too sharply and she flinches, looking up at him. "Oh."

He smiles wryly. "Hey, Bones."

She smiles back at him, guarded, watching him as he walks towards the counter. His lope is too forced, as if he's trying to look carefree but still too tense to really be okay. He pours himself a glass of water, and she watches as he tilts his head back to gulp it down. Her eyes trace down his neck, watching his adam's apple move up and down as he drinks, and her lips tingle as she imagines kissing his neck, moving down to kiss the hollow of his collarbone. Clenching her hands around her own cup, she turns away to resist the urge. She can kiss him later that night, after she's fixed this. Not now.

"So," he says. He sits down across from her, mirroring her position: shoulders turned inward, hands curled around a glass, eyes looking up shyly from beneath eyelashes. "I, uh, made reservations for us."

She looks up, surprised. "You did?"

He smiles, proudly. "Yeah. At a Thai restaurant."

Her mouth opens in a little 'o'. "Um," she says. "I, uh, I did too."

His eyebrows raise. "You made reservations at the Thai restaurant?"

She blushes, looking back down. "No, I meant...I made reservations. At a Chinese restaurant. They, um, they have a babysitting service. The kids stay in a playroom. Christine could stay there and we..." her cheeks are a deep red now, and she clears her throat. "She could eat with us and we could do something more...romantic afterwards."

He is watching her steadily now, his shoulders not as hunched now. This is a side of her that he's seen before, but that rarely ever comes out. Tilting his head, he thinks. "Yeah, I like that idea. The Thai restaurant doesn't have babysitting and, uh, I kind of wanted a more romantic dinner too."

She looks up, smiling slightly. "So Chinese it is? Seven o'clock?"

He smiles, a slightly cocky tilt to his lips. "Yeah. It's a date."

* * *

It is five-thirty, and he can hear the shower in their bedroom. He is sitting in the living room, laptop on his thighs, Christine leaning against his legs as she watches TV. She giggles every once in a while and he will detach himself from his research to give a quick glance at the TV. There is a Sesame Street marathon, and he can't help but laugh every once in a while along with her.

He knows he should have started this sooner, but now is no time for regretting, and he knows, because she is a woman and because he has been through this a thousand times over, that she will be getting herself ready for another hour. At six-thirty they'll switch: she'll get Christine ready, and he'll take a quick shower and get dressed. The restaurant is only five minutes away, so they'll leave at six-fifty-five and be there on time.

As it is, he is using the internet to find out what benefits marriage can give. The pro/con list on his Word document includes a much longer pro list than a con list, and he looks over them again, trying to commit some to memory so he can tell her. They include: visitation rights, the right to make medical decisions, some property and inheritance rights, the ability to create life insurance trusts, tax benefits, and visiting rights in jail. He laughs a little at the last one but adds it anyways, hoping she'll get a kick out of it and not think he expects her to wind up in jail.

The shower turns off in the bedroom, and he looks through his list one last time. The benefits, the cons, the proposal he is writing up in his head. _Why I Should Marry You. _He's proud of himself for it, even though it was hard for him to write it up.

He remembers the time he asked her to walk in his shoes, and how she learned from it. It was this memory that prompted him to write a rational proposal in the first place. He figures that if he saw the world from her eyes, it would be easier to understand.

She doesn't see romantically, the way he does. She sees marriage as a piece of paper. She sees it as a document that says "these are your new rights", and that's all. There is no deeper connection for her. He knows she loves him, deeper than anything, anyone else in the world, even Christine (she loves Christine, but the love she feels for her is a different love). Marriage, however, is just a ritual for her, one she might be happy to participate in but one that will not hold meaning to her.

That being said, he understands now. He still believes she was wrong. She should have understood the way he sees marriage. She should have understood his romanticism, the meaning it holds to him. But he was wrong as well. He shouldn't have turned her down because she wasn't able to see the romanticism in marriage like he could. He should've accepted her 'proposal', because it was still a proposal. It was still her telling him how she felt. She wanted to get married. Wasn't that what mattered?

He couldn't just tell her that now, though. The time for simple apologies had past, and he understood that. What he had to do now was show her that he understood. And what better way to do that than propose in her language?

* * *

She pulls her fingers through her hair, luxuriating in the pull of her scalp, the water that drips down her wrists. She feels cooler now, calmer, collected. She doesn't bother with a hair dryer, unwilling for the burn of hot air on her skin, hoping Booth won't mind.

As she stares at herself in front of the mirror, carefully applying eyeliner, she thinks over her plan. She'd spent all her free time writing up her proposal in her head. She was used to writing in her head, as she didn't always have a paper and pen handy, and she had learned what was too detailed and what was too vague. She thought of the main points of the proposal and left out the details, allowing the rest to bounce around her head.

She understands the way Booth sees the world, and she knows he thinks in a very romantic way. She doesn't understand the way he views marriage, though. She doesn't think a couple should need a piece of paper to prove their love, especially considering how many marriages end in divorce these days. She knows she loves Booth and that she will never leave him, and she knows he feels the same, and to her marriage would be nearly useless, in terms of love. She won't feel happier or more in love just because they are married. She will feel the same. What matters to her are the legal benefits.

However, Booth doesn't see it like that, so she understands the compromise. She has gone over the thirteen years they've shared, and has written up what she considers to be a romantic proposal. She was thinking of it in his mindset, so she assumes he will think it romantic as well.

She smiles a little at the ideas in her head, the various points of their history that have changed her for the better, and twists her hair into a knot above her head. She will make this night perfect for him.

He deserves that.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:**** Hoping to finish this before Christmas. Next chapter will be the next and will most likely be posted on the 24th or the 25th. ****Honestly probably could've finished this much earlier, but thanks to school and work...well.**

**Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Booth walks out of their room, tugging on the cuffs of his dress shirt. He feels slightly uncomfortable: dressing in a suit during a vacation feels backwards, wrong. He'd felt the need to look fancy, to make the night special, but he wore a suit so often around her that it felt too normal to be fancy. Still, it was the best thing he could do – wearing a Hawaiian shirt wasn't exactly fancy – and he figures she'll like it, even if she is used to it.

"Hey Bones," he calls, running a hand through his hair. "Where are you? Are you rea-"

He stops in his tracks, mouth still open, jaw dropping a little further. _Wow._

She stands up from where she was sitting on the sofa, her hands smoothing from her belly down to her hem. The high-waist black skirt shows off her curves, and the silk blue shirt both emphasizes her body and brings out her eyes. Her hair is pulled up tightly, with a couple of locks left curling around her temples. Her cheeks color as he stares at her, eyes raking up and down her body from the bottom of her black heels to the top of her still-slightly-wet hair. She looks up at him shyly beneath her eyelashes, and although she would probably never say it out loud, he knows what she is thinking. She is happy to be looked at this way, especially from him, and when her lips curve up in a tiny smile he breaks. Striding across the room in quick strides, he places his hands on her waist and pulls them together, leaning his head down and pressing his forehead against hers. "Hello, beautiful."

Her smile is nearly smug now, and she presses her lips against his, her hands curling around the back of his neck.

"Eeeeewwwwwwww!"

Booth broke from her, already laughing as he looks down at the little girl by his ankles. One hand covers her eyes and the other is curled around her mother's skirt, her nose crinkled. "I'm hungry, mommy."

Booth laughs, leaning down to wrap his hands around her side and pick her up in a swift motion. Her legs wrap around him automatically, her hands grasping his suit jacket. "Can we go eat now?"

He raises his eyebrows a little, looking down at her. She looks just like her mother, but more...adorable, where Bones looks...well. He smiles at her, at the cute blue sundress with the silver accents, the black ballet slippers on her tiny feet. Brennan has obviously done something with her hair, because it is curlier, bouncier than usual, and there is just a hint of makeup on her eyes, just enough to keep Christine happy. He leans down, pressing his lips against her forehead. "You look beautiful too, Chrissie."

She smiles and blushes, looking up the same way her mother did, and he feels a burst of pride in his heart for her, for the family he has built. He kisses her forehead again, then places a quick smacking kiss against her cheek, making her smile and giggle. She kicks softly and he puts her down, chuckling as she immediately runs to pick up her tiny dog purse. One hand reaches automatically for her, pulling her closer to his side, bumping his hip against hers. She smiles before pulling his hand from around her and twisting her fingers between his. "Let's go eat."

* * *

The man at the table looks up at her from beneath raised eyebrows. "Sorry ma'am, I can't find a reservation."

Brennan widens her eyes at him. "What do you mean? I came here this morning. I made a reservation for seven. I asked about the daycare program you have."

He looks down his list again, finger dragging down the paper. "Nope. There's no reservation for a Temperance Brennan anywhere here."

She huffs, turning away angrily and looking at him. "What now?"

He bites his lip. "Well, I've already cancelled the reservations at the Thai restaurant, so..." He turns to the man, trying to let off a kind vibe so that the man will be nice to them. "How long's the waiting list?"

"We'll have a table ready in two minutes."

He raises his eyebrows. "Huh. That's not bad, Bones. We can wait."

"But the daycare is all filled. We won't be able to take her."

_"What?"_

They chorus the word, then look at each other before looking down at the daughter between them. She is playing with a bendy pencil Booth found for her, and her eyebrows furrow as she tries to shape it. Both of them are thinking the same thing, even though they don't know it:

_I thought we were going to be alone. I can't propose in front of Christine. I need us to be alone. Christine will distract me and I will be unable to remember the moments I picked for my speech...'_

_ Damnit. This cannot be happening. How the hell am I going to talk about visiting rights in JAIL in front of Christine?! I can't!_

They look at each other again, worry mirrored in their eyes. There's nothing to do about it. They could, technically, walk around and look for a restaurant like this one, but he doubts that they'll find one. They might as well stay here, because this is the easiest choice.

"Okay. We'll wait."

* * *

"Stop kicking, Chrissy."

Christine's legs pause in mid-air, then drop slowly, at the same rate as the corners of her lips. He looks up quickly at her eyes, making sure they're not filling with tears. They're still dry, and the way her arms cross over her chest tell him that she's just annoyed, not sad.

He still smiles at her anyways, reaching across to tap at her menu. "Want me to read it to you?"

She shakes her head stubbornly, her lips moving as she tries to make sense of the words on the page. She's much more literate than most kids her age, but she still can't read fluently, which is, of course, to be expected. Brennan reaches beside her, gently reaching for Christine's hand and helping her read the words on the page. "Ch, Christine. It's a chuh sound."

He looks down at his own menu as she helps their daughter read, but his eyes do not read the words. He's still trying to find out how to salvage the night. Without a spot in the daycare, there is no way he will propose, not when his daughter is more than willing to do as much as she can to understand his words and interpret them in her childish way (which is scarily close to accurate).

Although he is oblivious to this, across him Brennan is thinking along the same lines. Her arm is wrapped around their daughter's shoulders and her finger is dragging lightly across the page, and although she is concentrating a sufficient amount to teach her daughter how to read the words on the page, the rest of her mind is still worrying. There's no way she's going to be able to propose during champagne, as she planned on doing. Her original plan was to wait until after dinner, order dessert, and then begin her proposal, which was a solid two minutes at the very minimum. Since that wasn't going to happen, she quickly changes the plans for the rest of the evening and decides that she'll propose to him out on the porch, by the beach. The moon will be out, she can light a couple of candles and break out a bottle of wine, and she'll still be in close range of Christine, who had a tendency to awaken at night.

Across the table, Booth is creating a similar plan. He figures there must be some chocolates at home, and although he wouldn't be able ask the waitress to wind the bracelet around the stem of the glass as he'd wanted to, he figures he could still make a pretty decent proposal.

If there is one thing that was similar between the thoughts of both, though, it is the idea that neither wanted to put off the proposal. The idea of waiting any longer – be it a day, be it a year – is torturing to them, and they shake it off the moment the idea springs to mind. _Tonight, _they think to themselves, unaware that the other is thinking the same thing. _It's got to be tonight._


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:**** Last chapter! This is definitely the longest of them all, because I got a little out of hand while writing Brennan's proposal :P Hope you enjoy, and Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays!**

By the time Christine has finally gone to bed, it is nearly ten o'clock and the fire of the sun has long set over the horizon. Brennan stretches out her fingers, yawning as she makes her way into the kitchen. She feels jittery, more than usual – although she knows exactly why. Shuffling through the pantry and cupboards, she finds two glasses and a bottle of champagne. Taking a deep breath, she makes her way out onto the porch.

He is sitting on one of the chairs, right hand rested on the tabletop beside him. He is relaxed, staring out over the ocean, with a far-away look on his face. He turns to her as she arrives, a smile pulling up the corners of his lips, and he gestures silently to the chair beside him. She doesn't notice the way he tenses slightly, his body suddenly reacting nervously.

She pulls up her chair and pops open the bottle, pouring champagne into the two glasses before passing one over to him. His fingers brush against hers as she hands the glass over, and they both shudder slightly at the simple touch.

They both lean back, sighing, staring out onto the sea. Her hand shakes as she raises the glass to her lips; his throat is dry from more than the bubbly liquid. They are both quiet for a little while, each gathering up their own courage, each considering how the other will react.

He is the first to start, unable to wait any longer. "I want to show you something."

"Oh, me too. Well, not show as much as tell, but...well, there is a visual component, but it only comes in later..."

They both pause, waiting for the other to start, and she flushes and he clears his throat and suddenly they lapse back into their previous silence.

He turns to her again, but this time he does not speak. He simply stares at her, at her eyes with their million shades of blue, at her auburn curls that he aches to run his fingers through, at the soft skin flushed red with embarrassment. He reaches across, unable to stop himself, and rests the back of his fingers against her cheek. She tilts her head, pressing into them, eyelids slowly dropping.

She pushes herself closer, his touch lending her new confidence. She turns her chair until she is as close to him as possible, their knees pressed together, and she twists their hands together and leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees, and he mirrors her action, until they are so close their foreheads are mere inches away from touching.

She smiles, warm and wry. "Hi."

"Hello," he murmurs back, smiling back at her.

"I wanted to tell you something." She takes a deep breath, shifting slightly before commencing. "I was thinking...about all we've been through. After all these years. The good moments and the bad." He raises her eyebrows, and she continues.

"I remember, that first year we were working together, when I was in New Orleans and you followed me after I was attacked. I remember being saved by you, when Kenton kidnapped me, and I was...terrified. I thought I was going to die. I trusted you, but you were in the hospital and I thought I was going to die."

His fingers slide over her wrist, up her arm until he is cupping her neck, tilting her chin up with his thumb so he can look into her eyes. "I remember Jasper, and the smurf." She smiles wryly. "I remember staying, when Sully invited me to go with him on his boat, because I couldn't leave you behind. I used other excuses at the time, but I must admit to myself now that you were the reason. You were the reason I couldn't leave. I remember going undercover as Roxie. I loved being her, not only because it was fun but because the way I got to act around you. The fact that I didn't have to hide that I felt something more than I could admit. I remember when Angela and Hodgins were going to get married, and we were at the altar, and I was still angry at you because of my father but I still wanted to be around you."

" I remember kissing you under the mistletoe. It was the best kiss I'd had in years." She looks up under her eyelashes and smiles. "At the time, it only topped the kiss we'd had in the rain, so long ago. I had never known before, but I missed you, your kisses, your taste..." She licks her lips, and shakes her head a little to get back on track.

"I remember when you...when you were..." She clears her throat and looks down, and he brushes away her tears before she even knows they're there. "I remember all the blood, and I couldn't...I couldn't think afterwards. I couldn't react afterwards. It was a defense, one I put up often when I was a child, and I couldn't react emotionally to anything. I wanted to cry and I wanted to...I think...that first night, after you were gone, I contemplated suicide. I trusted you so much, after losing everyone else in my life, and if you were gone...I didn't think I could live. I couldn't find a reason to live."

He wants to stop her, wants to kiss her and hold her and pray she never remembers those days again. He never knew just how much she had suffered back then, although he had a pretty good idea of it.

She takes in a shaky breath and continues. "I remember deciding I wanted a child, and deciding it had to be yours. It was selfish of me, but past all the characteristics that you would have passed on to that child...he or she would have been a piece of you. And when we discovered the brain tumor...I thought you were going to die again. I knew you probably wouldn't, I knew the odds were working with us, but I was still terrified. And then you couldn't remember me, and I thought I'd lost you. It was a pain worse than losing you physically. It was losing the best four years of my life, because all I know is half the story. You are the other half."

"I remember you confessing how you felt about me. I...I was terrified. Emotionally. I wanted to be with you, trust me. But I didn't think I could change. You didn't deserve me back then, Booth. You didn't deserve who I was. Who I thought I was."

"I did." He breaks his own rule and cuts through her speech, telling her what he regrets not telling her that night. "I did deserve you. You didn't need to change. You never needed to change."

"But I did." She smiles. "I already had. Not so much...changed, but...set free. I was trapped in my own world, one I had created especially to fit my emotional needs. But you broke down those walls, the ones I thought were keeping me safe. They were holding me back. And you changed that. I should've realized that back then, Booth. And I should've told you."

"I remember leaving, because I couldn't stand hurting you any more than I already had. I thought if we spent some time apart...but then you left too, and the thought of losing you nearly killed me. You were going to be a hero. And I didn't want you to be a hero. Not if the price was your life.

"And when we came back, and you were with...I'd spent all my time thinking about us, about what we could be, and I'd realized that being with you would take time, and effort, but that I wanted to make it work. And then I came back, and...I would never admit it, but I didn't like her. Not because she wasn't a wonderful woman, and she made you happy, but because she was what I wanted to be with you."

"Never," he murmured, breaking his rule again. "She was never what you are to me now."

She smiles again, her hand cupping his cheek. "And when Vincent died, and you...you were there. You were warm, and there, and alive. Even though you could've died. And you were everything I wanted, and needed, and six years of stopping myself from feeling went down the drain because I couldn't stop myself from being painfully grateful that you were still alive.

"And you were there, for the next year, teaching me all the things I didn't know about being in a relationship. All the things I didn't know..."

"You knew," he smiled. "I never taught you anything, Bones. You knew it all. You had just never put any of it into practice before." He sees the way her eyes look away, and her fingers tense, and he knows what's coming before she can even put it into words.

"When I left, Booth, I wasn't trying to hurt you. I didn't want to hurt you. I wanted you to be able to concentrate. I was giving you what you gave me. You...allowed me to love. I wanted to allow you something I'd been doing all my life. You needed to concentrate, to see the facts and not the emotions, and that would've been impossible if I had been in jail."

"And everything afterwards...Christine's first steps, her first sentences, everything...I'm so glad all of it was with you. I'm so glad Christine is your child, and that I can raise her with you. I'm so glad that I have this life with you, that I can kiss you when I want, that I can hug you and it doesn't have to be a guy hug, that I fall asleep and wake up to you. I love this life we've created and I wouldn't give it up for the world."

"I realized something this week, Booth. Marriage is...a picky topic. And even after all this...all these years of romance and history, I still can't make the emotional connection by myself. But you do." She looks up under her eyelashes. "You make that connection. I don't know how, but you do. And since I feel an emotional connection towards you...I realized I can make that connection, to marriage, as long as I think of it with you. I can see it through your eyes, Booth, and it...it is a wonderful feeling."

He smiles, eyes clouding with tears, and she reaches and pulls out the ring, holding it in her open palm. "I, um...I went out with Christine, and we got this. I hope you like it. I want...I'd like to marry you Booth. Seeley Booth. I would like to get married to you, and I would like to exchange vows, and I would like to go on a honeymoon and wear a white dress and Angela tells me the socially-accepted ritual is to abstain from intercourse before the wedding and I would not like to do that but if it is the social norm, then –"

He cuts her off with a kiss, pouring all he wants to say to her into it, into the way her lips open willingly under his and his tongue runs over her bottom teeth. He pulls away slowly, both drawing breaths from the air in the inch between their lips, and they both smile.

"Hey Bones." He pulls back, pulling out the list and handing it to her. "I made this for you."

She raises her eyebrows, refocusing her eyes, and looking at the paper in front of her. She laughs, looking up at him again, the laugh catching in her throat. He is holding the bracelet between his thumb and forefinger, dangling it in front of her eyes. She reaches with shaky fingers, gently touching the charms, and he gently takes her wrist in his other hand, slipping the bracelet on.

"I couldn't find a ring," he says dryly, "but I thought this would be-"

This time she cuts him off, pressing her lips tightly against his, and this time there is more behind the way she moves. She pushes closer, impossibly close, until she has no other choice but to raise her legs and straddle him on the chair, tilting his head back as their tongues meet softly in stark contrast to the way her hips press against his. A moan leaves his lips as his fingers tangle in her hair, pulling her head back and dragging open lips down her throat, sucking her pulse point, and her hands drag down his chest, fingers pushing through the space between the buttons of his shirt and touching warm, bare skin-

"Mommy!"

He pulls away with a gasp, both their chests rising and falling heavily as they pause, wondering if they actually heard what they thought they did.

"Daddy! I awake now!"

She scrambles off him, pushing back into her chair, and he grabs his jacket off the back of his chair and throws it onto his lap just as their child appears, head peeking around the corner. "Mommy!" She runs over, climbing into her lap and scrunching her nose. "Mommy, you red."

He chuckles, then pauses when he realizes he's probably just as flushed as she is, if not more.

"Back to bed," Brennan laughs, resting Christine on her hip as she stands. As she walks past Booth he drags his fingers across her waist, smiling up at her, and the little girl that they created doesn't see the way they exchange a knowing look as she takes their child back to sleep.

* * *

When she returns, he is in bed, and he rolls to look at her when she walks in.

"Hello, Mrs. Booth," he says cheekily, the undertone of love and happiness not missed by her.

She wrinkles her nose and sets off on a long speech about how taking the name of a husband is an antiquated ritual that takes away the individuality and freedom of a woman. But when she wraps her arm around his waist and presses his ear against her chest, she smiles up at him wryly. "Good night, Mr. Brennan ."

He laughs.


End file.
